


Post-Morphine, Pre-Sleep

by coffeeandfeathers



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Gen, Male Solo, Masturbation, Morphine, Season 1, just straight up jerkin it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 12:53:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15930836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandfeathers/pseuds/coffeeandfeathers
Summary: Elliot doesn't sleep much. He finds things to help.





	Post-Morphine, Pre-Sleep

Elliot didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but he was falling into a pattern. Wake up, work, home, feed Qwerty, morphine, sleep. He snuck meals in there sometimes, the occasional hack spliced in post-morphine, post-home, post-Qwerty, but there was something else sneaking into his routine, pre-sleep to make it easier.

He’d never been very fond of lying in bed, staring at the blueish glow from his phone and waiting for his brain to power down. There were other things he could be doing, better ways to use his limited time. But the world got a little fuzzier when he didn’t sleep and that made him nervous, so he kept forcing himself away from the computer and onto the couch in a half-hearted attempt to rest. Morphine helped, but his brain still buzzed, and other attempts to calm down didn’t really work. His body was getting used to that rhythm and the physical awareness it was beginning to provide. Comfort meant addiction. Addiction meant a downward spiral, and he couldn’t afford that now.

He had to stop getting high and jerking off. He _had_ to, because morphine had never made him horny before and he’d been doing it for years and he wasn’t supposed to enjoy it this much. It didn’t matter how good touching himself felt, how it kept him from fucking Shayla or anyone else in close proximity. It didn’t matter that squeezing every bit of an orgasm from his body left his heart pounding but his head quiet. It didn’t matter that it made him sleep.

_Feed Qwerty, morphine, sleep. No room for additions_ , Elliot told himself one evening, sinking into his couch as soon as he got home. Twelve hour day-- no time for lunch because of another small scale attack on Evil Corp—so he’d crammed down a hotdog from the cart on his way home. He unbuttoned his work shirt, slid into a t-shirt he’d left on the floor from the previous night and retrieved the orange bottle of pills. The first line went down easy, and Elliot fought the urge to crush out a second one. That was easy to regiment.

_Oh, fuck_. Already a warmth was spreading between his legs, radiating out to his hips as his cock flushed to attention against his jeans.

“No,” he said aloud, trying to press his erection down with the heel of his hand. “We’re done.”

The morphine was spreading through his body, the tension in his shoulders dissipating, and he slid further into the couch while his hand, losing interest in suppressing his arousal, started toying with his zipper. Every point of contact was sensitive and as he shifted, the brush of his underwear against his aching cock was making it harder to concentrate.

_You can’t keep doing this,_ a voice in his head scolded, but the words fuzzed as he sat up and the full pressure of his jeans rubbed against him.

“Fuck it,” he panted out, and then there was just the matter of getting his pants unbuttoned fast enough. Usually you were supposed to imagine something, but the combination of morphine and exhaustion made it impossible for Elliot to think of anything beyond the sensation of his own fingers, legs involuntarily quivering every time a new burst of pleasure shot through his body. He’d started edging himself a few days ago, bringing himself right to the point of agony and then pulling back until he’d finally, _finally_ let himself finish. It felt like punishment wrapped up in pleasure and his cock was already flushed and aching when he brought himself to the first peak.

“Not yet. Not yet.” He forced himself to stop, let the orgasm coil tightly, throbbing, in the pit of his stomach before stroking himself again. He went slowly even as his hips jerked forward, his brain hazy and body desperate for release. The second peak came faster when he thumbed the sensitive head of his cock, and Elliot bit his lip hard against a whimper that threatened to bubble up. His heart was thumping in his throat, on tempo with the blood pounding between his legs. He was getting so close, almost over the edge before he stopped, panting audibly.

_Please. Please please please._ His arousal filled the space in his stomach and between his thighs, his brain a constant thrumming of morphine and a high-pitched whining need. He started again, rougher, tugging at his cock with one hand and cramming the other fist into his mouth to stifle the moans he could no longer keep down. The fist eventually moved down to pull up his t-shirt as the bursts of pleasure got closer and closer together.

_You don’t deserve this. You don’t… please please yes please now yes please NOW._

Elliot’s cock twitched, fist still pumping as he stroked every bit of the orgasm from his legs, his stomach, his spine. His hips rocked against his hand over and over, his brain at once blank and full of color. The waves became slower and slower until he could finally collapse onto his back on the couch, spent and streaked with his own cum.

“Tomorrow,” he panted out, legs trembling from the exertion. “I’ll stop tomorrow. Tomorrow.” But for now, he could lie in bliss and finally rest.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 1am two years ago and my internet wasn't working so I printed it out and drove to my best friend's dorm and made her read it and now she's my girlfriend.


End file.
